If I were satan, this is how I would attack mothers.

This morning, I had the thought, "How would I attack mothers if I were satan?"

I considered it for awhile.

Well...I'd start by creating an environment that holds those who care for children in low esteem. Because if I could do that first, everything else I did would be easier. I'd start by making motherhood seem like fundamentally, a waste of time, one's brain, one's efforts.

I'd create an environment where being a mother is, at best, a side-pursuit and not on its own something admirable or important.

It's easier to attack something from the inside, the heart of it. I'd diminish the very role of motherhood.

I would be nervous. Because how would anyone believe that bringing in life and nurturing it, the very stuff of God, is a waste, but I would whisper it over and over hoping it would take.

If it did work, I would escalate. I'd go on to make motherhood not just seem like an unworthy cause, but an enemy of a woman's progress and happiness in life. I'd use every spell I could to motherhood seem like a stone that weighs women down and destroys them.

Yes, I'd know that in motherhood is a joy unspeakable, laughter uncontrollable, and all of that, but I'd emphasize the work of motherhood to the point that it looks like the worst of deals.

I'd know that mothers love their children. They'd never believe me 100%. But I'd plant a seed of discomfort with the very calling of motherhood deep enough to create an inner-conflict that rises whenever it requires a certain level of presence.

All of this would take turning an entire value system on its head.

I'd have to convince an entire generation that what matters most is production, output, and above all else: self-gratification and the praise of men. I would do it all with mothers as my target. Why? Because they're the keepers of the children.

I'd know production, output, praise, and self-gratification are not satisfying in the long run, so I'd have to get people hyper-focused on everything but the home. I'd keep them thinking that life is just around the next corner.

I'd need to instill a sense of dissatisfaction with the little things in favor of image and how they are seen by those on the outside. I'd create a dependence on the approval of strangers.

I'd offer an exchange of calling for performance. Calling for applause. Calling for the praise of those who don't know them.

I'd slowly turn their eyes outward and inward at the same time. Anywhere, but what's directly in front of them.

If I were satan, I'd reduce motherhood to an aesthetic. I'd try to turn the warrior into a performer earning marks.

If the mothers don't know they are engaged in holy combat, active ministry, it will be much easier to lure them out of that identity. And if they feel like an overwhelmed student who is being constantly, harshly evaluated, they'll drop out all together.

If I were satan, I'd attack motherhood by making it look mundane rather than a way to inhabit and touch the wonderful world of childhood again, but this time as the protector.

I'd make motherhood look like it's a default position for someone with nothing else to offer.

If I were satan, I'd make mothers believe that motherhood steals rather than amplifies and refines their natural gifts. I'd make them feel robbed even as motherhood grows gems inside of their hearts.

I'd blind them to the reality that children are not little children forever.

I would make the brief window of intense nurturing feel like an eternity of hiddenness that needs to be escaped until they are choking on blessings and grasping for a sense of worth anywhere but here.

I'd make them feel like their true self is somewhere out there.

I'd conceal that they'd emerge from this milk-soaked bootcamp of refinement, growth, and pruning stronger, smarter, and wiser than they could ever imagine.

If I were satan, the way I'd attack mothers would be to cover them in guilt. I'd bombard them with so much condemnation that they couldn't see straight. I'd make errors in judgement and common mistakes feel unforgivable and irredeemable.

When nothing they do is good enough, there can be no peace. When the simple things aren't sufficient, one grows weary.

I'd replace the undeniable simple beauty of each day, and the fresh grace of every morning with a constant hunt of low hum of panic and fear of getting it wrong.

I'd know mothers are strong, so I'd look for fresh ways to undermine them every day. I'd use anybody who is willing to be used in their lives. My goal would be to destabilize their instincts and make their maternal confidence seem like absolute foolery.

If I were satan, the way I'd attack mothers is by convincing each one that she's alone. Even if she isn't physically isolated, I'd stir up so much insecurity, comparison, and competition, that the groups that should welcome and nurture would be rife with contentiousness.

I'd make the simple pleasure and lifeline of community a true challenge to find. It will be easier to work on her if she's alone. I'd make her believe it's easier to be by herself.

It goes without saying, but her marriage would be my daily, mouth-watering plump fruit of a target.

If I were satan, I'd saddle her with financial burdens that feel insurmountable. No one can be everything. I'd put her at war with her life. I'd set up a system where she has to hunt the bacon, bring it home, cook it, and then clean it all up. I'd keep her exhausted.

Then, if I were satan, I'd notice that even with everything I've tried to do, she still rises and hugs her children, pouring love into them, and defeat would flood me.

I would rage knowing that creating an environment that makes motherhood look like a waste, the guilt and insecurity I tried to plant, the undermining I inspired, the isolation I fostered, the burdens I carefully chiseled from heavy stones: none of them were enough.

I would see how much she still fights for them, protects them, nurtures them, feeds and loves them and it would eat at me. I would hate the sound of mother and child's laugh co-mingling. The music would grate against my spirit.

None of it would make sense. How did my schemes fall apart, I'd ask myself.

And then I would see her praying. I would notice the unmistakable outline of Jesus beside her and know that I was once again defeated because her love and strength didn't come from her but the One who said, "I am with you always."

The smoky scent of her sweet & simple faith would burn my eyes, clouding my vision until I could not even see her anymore.

I'd slink away into darkness, the sound of their tinkling laughter dancing behind me.

I'd know then that I never stood a chance. Because she doesn't mother in this fight alone. She loves alongside the God who never fails and who called her to raise one of His lights, bear one of his holy souls.

That's how I'd do it.

"And lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the age." Matthew 28:20